Good to be Alive
by ninasdreams
Summary: A collection of fluff prompt fills from Tumblr. May be mild spoilers for CATWS, so watch individual chapters for spoiler warnings. Steve/Bucky, cameos by other Avengers
1. blue jeans, white shirt

_**First of a series of fluff prompt fills on Tumblr. This one's for somethingformyself who requested "Bucky looking good in a t-shirt and jeans. People keep checking him out and Bucky thinks it's cute how Steve glares at people."**_

_**I enjoyed this way too much. Hint: I have a thing for jeans.**_

* * *

Steve's never really been one to over think the way he dresses.

Some fashion baffles him _(what's the point of shorts that short?)_, while other aspects like hooded sweatshirts have become a favorite addition to his wardrobe. Slacks or khakis, a t-shirt or button down, with a jacket and comfortable shoes tend to suit him just fine.

Then he and Bucky moved into Avengers tower. Tony took one look at the three large duffel bags they had between them and immediately declared a shopping spree. Pepper was quick to step-in, getting their measurements and some color and style preferences then assuring them that she wouldn't go overboard.

Steve's willing to admit she's got good taste. His new wardrobe has a mix of casual and formal, all in styles that Steve could almost believe he picked out himself. He valiantly ignores the cost that likely went into updating and replacing their and Bucky have bonded over a love of graphic tees and converse.

He can admit that Bucky in a t-shirt is quite a tempting picture. The casual fit brings out some of the boyish charm Steve remembers Bucky having in the old days, a trait that's been making more and more of an appearance as Bucky grows comfortable in his own skin again.

The softness of the material under his fingertips and the warmth of Bucky's skin just beneath is an alluring bonus.

And then there are the jeans.

Jeans, Steve's decided, are the best and worst thing to come of 20th century fashion changes.

He remembers the jeans from before, high-waisted denim that were practical but didn't necessarily scream attractive. Now there are so many styles and colors that Steve's frankly a bit overwhelmed. There's a style for everyone.

And jeans on Bucky? Well, the only word Steve's able to come up with for that combination is sinful.

There's the pair of dark tapered jeans that bunch loosely around Bucky's thighs, tightening around the firm muscles of his calves further down. _(Those same legs wrapping tight around his waist, cinching their bodies tightly together.)_

Then there's the roughed up pair he wears all the time around the tower, artful tears revealing hints of skin and the fitted waist that draw Steve's eyes more often then he's willing to admit. _(The delicious satisfaction of sliding his hands into those back pockets to grope freely as their teeth clash in a hungry kiss.)_

And those slim black jeans Bucky saves for the times Tony drags them out for a night of drinking, clubbing and general abandon—the ones that are practically painted on and hug every inch of lean muscle and highlight each tantalizing swing of his best friend's hips on the dance floor? Yeah. Steve's pretty sure he deserves a medal for every minute he spends resisting the urge to tear the damn things from Bucky's frame so that he can map the skin beneath with his tongue over and over again.

Steve knows he's not alone in his avid appreciation of Bucky in casual wear.

He sees Nat's full body scans and approving grins when Bucky puts on something new. Sees the glint in the eyes of people they pass in the streets, men and women giving Bucky more than a fleeting glance of interest. Feels possessiveness flare whenever he catches the lust-dark looks that can only be called hunger when anyone else follows the (_enticing, torturous_) dip and sway of those hips as Bucky loses himself in heavy bass thumping from the speakers.

"Are you done oggling jealously from the sidelines, punk?"

Steve snaps from his thoughts, the frown he'd didn't realize had formed smoothing away as Bucky's laughing blue eyes meet his. There's a challenge written in that crooked grin, in the way that Bucky backs into the throng of dancers again, just out of Steve's reach.

Steve follows, drawn by the invisible tether that allows him to pick Bucky out of any crowd.

Bucky's already swaying seductively when Steve catches up, eyes closed and head titled so his neck is bared, lips parted ever so slightly. Steve hooks his fingers in the belt loops of Bucky's jeans and tugs him forward with a growled, "Jerk." He cuts Bucky's chuckle short by claiming his mouth, tongue immediately slipping in to devour the heady taste of his best friend. Bucky responds with equal fervor.

The rest of the world may get to admire Bucky in his (_unfairly attractive) _jeans and t-shirts, but Steve is the one who gets to strip them off piece by piece to enjoy the exquisite body beneath.

_Let them look_ Steve thinks smugly, and grips Bucky's hips tighter.


	2. these moments

**Summary: Bucky never expected to see this day.**

* * *

"Gene Ellen Roewer."

His heart is pounding, mouth dry in anticipation.

"Jeffrey T. Rogan."

This is it.

"Steven Grant Rogers."

The Avengers' cheers fill the air, Bucky's whoops carrying even as the next name is called. Even from where they're seated in the back of the crowd, Bucky can see the blush painting Steve's cheeks a faint rose. Steve receives his diploma with a bashful grin and walks off stage to rejoin the maroon and gold mass of his classmates.

Bucky shares a smug grin with Sam beside him. He can't help being overwhelmed by the excitement bubbling just beneath the surface, unused to the giddiness that's built in a steady crescendo since Steve handed the whole team the graduation announcements weeks ago.

When Sam had asked during one of their monthly meet ups if they'd ever thought of life outside of being a soldier, Bucky hadn't hesitated to point out that Steve could've totally made it as an artist. Steve had nearly choked on his beer as Bucky told Sam about the breathtaking sketches and art supplies that littered their apartment once upon a time, and the classes Steve took for a bit before money really got tight and he was forced to drop out.

"Why haven't you finished up?" Sam asked and Steve had just shrugged an answer about more important things than getting a degree. But Bucky knows Steve, knows how important that degree was to Steve back then, one last wish of his mother's before she passed. He's got a lot of regrets from during and after the war, but one of Bucky's greatest regrets was being able to help Steve finish school. But money isn't an issue anymore. So he'd done his homework and discovered Brooklyn College was still around. He called the dean, inquiring about their degree program and getting assurance that the school could be discrete, and enrolled Steve in a semester of art classes.

"Just try it, Stevie. What can it hurt?"

The rest of the ceremony is a blur and before he knows it, Bucky's cheering with the rest as the graduates throw their caps in the air. His heart feels full to bursting as he watches Steve make his way over to them, pausing here and there to share hugs and take pictures with classmates. Despite the initial awe, Bucky's been surprised and grateful for how quick the kids were to embrace Steve as one of them, even going so far as to fend off nosy paparazzi who'd come sniffing around once word of Steve's attendance spread. Watching Steve now, Bucky can see the stress and pressure of being a national icon melt away to leave just Steve...just the guy Bucky's known since they were a couple of kids wrapped up in each other who refused to back down from a fight.

"You alright there, Barnes?" Tony asks.

Bucky nods, still grinning, feels the burn of tears threatening. He can't explain what this means to him, the love and pride and disbelief and surrealism that are all mixed up in him right now. Sam bumps his shoulder.

"Didn't think you'd ever get to see this, huh?"

Bucky laughs. Of course Sam would get it. Sam always seems to know. "Nah. Global depressions and world wars tend to put a damper on things like this."

Sam's laughter joins his as Steve finally reaches them.

"Congratulations, Steve," Bruce says.

"Yeah, welcome to the collegiate superheroes club," Tony adds.

Steve shakes his head fondly as Nat asks, "How's it feel to finally get that diploma?"

Bucky watches Steve's eyes light up and thinks_ I'm glad he gets to have this_.

Blue eyes meet his as Steve answers, "Pretty great, actually." He pauses, eyes beckoning and Bucky is more than happy to obey, stepping closer. "But every artist needs inspiration and I couldn't have done it without Bucky."

This time Bucky's beaming. "No need to be modest on my account, Punk."

Steve chuckles and wraps strong arms around Bucky's waist, tugging him forward. "Jerk," he whispers playfully. "Thank you."

And Bucky knows those words encompass more than just this—they include years of nights spent holding frightened vigil over Steve's sickly form, watching each others' back on the streets and in the battlefield...they're about companionship and brotherhood and love.

Bucky responds in the only way he can, pulling Steve down to kiss that lush mouth and brand the words _always_ and _I love you_ and _you're welcome_ into the velvet heat of Steve's mouth. Somewhere in the background a couple of Steve's classmates whistle and catcall. Steve grins into the kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at Bucky's nape.

"Alright alright! Save it for the grad party, you two."

Bucky gives Clint the finger, moaning pointedly into Steve's mouth before drawing away with a quick nibble to his bottom lip. He meets Steve's gaze, feeling his breath hitch at the adoring look he finds there, even as they share identical goofy grins.

This…this is bliss. And for once, Bucky's just going to enjoy it.


	3. breakfast for two

_**Prompt from jbarnesrogers on Tumblr who requested Steve/Bucky and making breakfast.**_

* * *

It's a simple thing really.

Breakfast. One meal of three each day, prepared and eaten like any other.

When Steve lived alone in DC, breakfast was cereal and coffee with the occasional bagel to keep things interesting. Once upon a lifetime, it was eggs and bacon and orange juice, toast with strawberry jam when funds allowed. That was before the ice, before…well, just before.

Bucky turns up at Steve's new Brooklyn apartment tired, filthy, and looking worn down to his very core. Steve barely hears the whisper of his name as Bucky succumbs to exhaustion and shuts down without warning. After that breakfast, lunch, dinner—meals are merely a means to an end, a necessity for Bucky to recover his strength even if he still barely remembers anything. They spend the days tip-toeing around one another, rediscovering the ins and outs of a relationship that used to be as natural as breathing. There isn't any time for thoughts of before.

As Bucky progresses, Steve introduces him to the team one by one.

Nat stares Bucky down for half an hour, the tensest 30 minutes of Steve's life, but by the end Bucky is nodding at her with a tentative grin and Natasha is smiling. Sam comes in joking around and sitting them down for "a non-geeked out crash course on smartphones and social media". Steve catches him softly reassuring Bucky that things will get better and "I'm quite the listener if I do say so myself." Tony waltzes in with buckets of popcorn and insists on a weekend marathon of Star Wars ("I'm assigning you the original Star Trek series for homework next weekend"). Clint drops in, hands Bucky a business card (did that say Brainwashed Heroes Club?), challenges him to a snipe-off, and that's that. Bruce visits the most, pulling Bucky aside to meditate or talk or just hang out in comfortable silence. Bruce's dry slightly self-deprecating humor seems to be the biggest hit with Bucky, drawing more than one chuckle and on a few occasions, full-on tear-filled laughter.

A year and a half after Bucky first moves in with him, Steve finds himself spending the nights curled around his best friend in a juxtaposition of their previous roles, feeling the first stirrings of hope.

They move into Avengers Tower at Tony's insistence and it isn't at all as awkward as Steve expected. Everyone interacts comfortably, bonding over movie nights, Super Smash Brothers tournaments, and the impromptu welcome-back-from-saving-the-nine-realms party they threw for Thor when he finally returned. Bucky sleeps most nights through now, face nuzzled into Steve's neck, warming his skin with soft steady wuffs of air.

**6 Months Later…**

Steve wakes alone.

He's pleasantly surprised to realize that this no longer sends him into immediate panic mode. Sometimes Bucky runs, other times he goes up to the roof where he sits for a couple hours in silent contemplation. Steve knows this, knows it and almost falls back asleep burrowing into the warmth that hasn't left the sheets.

His stomach eventually drives him from his nest, roiling and gurgling with loud hungry demands. He washes up then pads down the hall absentmindedly, fingers running through his hair and exacerbating the messy blonde strands. A low upbeat hum pulls Steve from his morning stupor, drawing his gaze to the kitchen. He creeps forward, a grin slowly stretching his lips as finds the source.

Steve leans in the doorway, mouth watering at the scent of bacon sizzling on the stove, listening with a smile to the pop of grease and soft muttered curses as some of it lands on exposed flesh. Bucky's back is to Steve, hips swaying to the beat has he hums. Steve smothers a chuckle as he spots the pink ties of the Kiss the Cook apron Clint bought him (a result of the team dinner wherein the verdict on Steve's cooking was unanimous. Culinary master he most certainly is not). He flicks a glance at their small kitchen table and feels tears spring to his eyes.

It's neatly set for two, glasses of orange juice sitting in wait and a plate stacked with a small tower of toast in the center. There's even a jar of strawberry jam set aside.

Steve feels his chest swell with an overwhelming fondness for the man standing across from him. For the first time in, well, decades, everything feels _right_. He has his friends, a place to call home, and he has Bucky. Bucky who is friend and lover and everything that Steve has ever needed or wanted. For the first time there's no pain in thinking of before, and those thoughts are followed by the even better thought of tomorrow.

"You gonna stand there all day staring at my ass, punk?"

Steve chuckles and closes the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist despite his squawk of protest.

"Jerk," he murmurs, leaning his chin on Bucky's metal shoulder.

"Kisses later or we'll be eating charcoal for breakfast," Bucky huffs and Steve kisses his neck in response.

"Probably shouldn't wear that apron then."

Bucky groans.

Steve relents with one last kiss, extracting the last few slices of bacon from the pan and taking the plateful to the table.

Bucky brings a bowl full of steaming eggs a few minutes later, placing it at the center of the table before turning to Steve and giving him a pointed look.

"Well?"

"I thought you wanted kisses later?"

"Stove's off, food's ready," Bucky growls. "It _is_ later."

Steve pulls Bucky in without further delay, tongue delving in to explore the warm cavern of Bucky's mouth. It lasts for one long, heart-pounding, gloriously _perfect_ moment.

Then Bucky's pulling back, lips kiss-swollen and eyes dancing. "Now let's eat."

Steve digs into the food as his stomach voices its protest at the hold-up, but he doesn't miss the leer Bucky sends his way. His heart feels lighter than it has in decades.

It's not just breakfast this morning. It's the promise of a bright tomorrow.


End file.
